An Innocent Casualty
by Milli Moi
Summary: 'Older Men declare war. But it is youth that must fight and die' - Herbert Hoover. You should look forward to the arrival of your son, grandson, godson. You shouldn't have to lose anyone, especially the youngest to die in the Second Wizarding War. Aaron didn't make it, he never stood a chance, but six months later his family recall the loss of an Innocent
1. Chapter 1

'Older Men declare war. But it is youth that must fight and die.'

\- Herbert Hoover

Part one: Dad

The winter looked cold now. It wasn't truly winter for months but yet it felt cold, so cold. Sometimes he felt he wouldn't be warm because there was no warmth in what had happened. Aaron had been so tiny, so young and so, so innocent. The first known casualty of the second wizarding war had been an unborn baby. Nothing could be more innocent.

He had felt so many things in the past six months, so many things he hadn't really labelled before, they were feelings that had never been strong enough to need a word: protection, fury; regret.

He regretted that he had left Hermione and Harry back in the winter of 1997, regretted that he had gone off in a time when they both needed him. He hadn't known at the time but there was more to regret, more guilt in the emotion. He had left them, not two people but three. Hermione had recently realised she was pregnant, had allowed a few more weeks to be really sure. She was waiting for the right time to announce it, and she never got the chance. He hadn't known she was expecting a baby until the baby was no more.

He regretted that he could not have stopped them going to the Malfoy's, regretted he hadn't insisted on giving himself to save her and their baby from torture. It had made him feel sick to the stomach to hear the screams of the girl he loved. It had made him physically sick when he knew there had been pain suffered by that tiny little boy inside Hermione. His son had begged for help and Ron had been unable to do anything for him.

It was always down to him, down to the things he had done wrong, the times when he only thought of himself. He should have known better, he lived in a household of nine people, knew caring for others was what kept them all together, kept them safe. He would never have the opportunity to keep Aaron safe.

The name had been a surprise to him. She had come up with it as a suggestion, just a thought. He had his name, Ronald. Aaron Ronald Weasley. Hermione had chosen to do that, to name their baby after him. She cared about him – now he knew how much, but then he hadn't known, had been too insecure to realise what was right in front of his eyes.

They had been about to have a baby, a real human baby. He wondered what Aaron would have been like, would he have grown up like Hermione, he had imagined him that way in his mind. A toddler with afro-like curls, wearing a Chudley Canons t-shirt and with mud on the knees of his jeans. He wondered if Aaron was clever like his mum, or was he average like his dad. He would never know, any of it. Their future had been changed by that horrible, insane woman, and this was something they could never take back.

If the torture hadn't happened, if the bitch hadn't insisted on attacking the one person he couldn't bear to see hurt then he would have a young baby here now. She had done irreversible damage and for what? To make herself feel better? Because she was worried about the bloody sword, that was it. It was petty, unimportant and it had scarred Hermione for life, both mentally and physically.

The thought of it all, the thought of what Bellatrix had done but also of the other Death Eaters and Voldemort himself, it made his hands curl into tight fists. Still, he wouldn't trust himself not to kill one of them if they met face to face. The war had killed friends, his brother, and his son. He was more than glad that they were going to rot in Azkaban.

He was going with Shacklebolt, going to take up the offer and hunt down those that had got away. He had to do it to try and find some peace, to try and work through the pile of emotions tangled like devil's snare in his head. Some of the others knew now, knew that the first casualty for the Weasley's had not been Fred, but his nephew.

One day he would be that, and that was partly why he'd asked the over-anticipated question. He wanted to make it right, wanted to make them right and the family whole. He knew if he hadn't asked then he never would, the day after the battle had been the right time, the only time. He hadn't had time to think, but he had the ring he wanted, it had been his Mum's, he knew she would be more than happy for it to reside forever more with Hermione.

He would never leave again, never not be at her side. She now had his promise as she went back to school, back to a form of normal away from the spotlight and the fame that was trying to engulf them. She needed to heal, he did too, but they would never forget. Aaron was just as valid as Fred, he had died due to war and in the effort to save their world once and for all from Tom Riddle.

Fleur was pregnant. They had told them all last week, Hermione had excused herself, been physically sick and unable to come back to the family gathering. She would never forget either. Soon he would tell them all, now that she was away from home and didn't have to recall it all again. He couldn't protect his son but he planned to do his best at protecting Hermione, to learn from life's mistakes and never let go again.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two: Granny

Molly cleaned. She felt all she had done was clean since the events of the past few months. It was as if she was trying to clean away the death surrounding her family, prevent the loss of anymore.

She lost a son, her son had lost a twin. Her first grandchild had been on the way, he too was gone. Yes, she had her vengeance- Bellatrix Lestrange was dead – but she couldn't bring back those that were gone. She was a mother, a carer, her job was to keep her family safe and secure, to heal the cut knees and black eyes to fix the broken toys and patch the jeans. She could do that, she could heal the physical pain but she could not, and no one could heal emotions. All of her family felt pain in the depths of their hearts but two of them felt it more than the others. Fred and Ron.

It felt worse to know that Ron's pain had been there longer than she had known. She hadn't known her grandson was on his way, that Hermione was pregnant. Merlin, she hadn't even realized her little boy was old enough for all of that. She thought Hermione was more responsible than that, she was more than capable of a simple contraception, but she couldn't be angry at them, they were just kids, kids stuck in a mess with their whole world peeling away around them and looking for comfort.

She should have been there, been there for her son and her future daughter-in-law should have been there to help Hermione through the pain and stress of the loss. If she had only known, only had an inkling there was a baby on the way, then she would have insisted they came home. He who must not be named would have gained power but her grandson would be safe.

She felt selfish to think that. It was selfish, it was wrong, how many more people would have lost their sons and daughters in order for her to keep her first grandchild? She knew, even though she hadn't asked, that this was exactly the way Hermione had thought. She wouldn't have wanted more to die for the sake of one child. She was a clever girl, head strong but sweet - a bit like she herself had been in her younger days.

When she first heard she had been furious with her son. She expected Ron to be more cautious and responsible. As much as she wanted to ignore the facts of life, she was more than aware that there were many young boys in her household. As much as it made her shudder she was sure it had happened under her roof as well. Since then the volume of her annoyance had fizzled down like flat butterbeer and now she could see it all through his eyes.

She also could see her clearly cared a lot for Hermione, that he would do right by her. He had proven he would do right, they would be married there, at the burrow, as his brother Bill had been.

A lump formed in Molly's throat when she thought of Bill because he too would soon be a father. She was delighted for him and Fleur, delighted to be a grandparent, but still, a small piece of her would remain with baby Aaron. He was her first.

And so she cleaned, cleaned away the dust and grime as she had done since her children were babies, not having babies themselves. She cleaned the house of all the bad and the wrong, of all the selfishness and evil and cruel intentions. She could not make a better world for Aaron, but his sacrifice made a better world for the grandchildren in her future.


	3. Chapter 3

Part three: Godfather

Sometimes Harry felt that although his glasses helped him see what was literally in front of him they didn't always make it possible for him to see those things that were figuratively in front of him. He had lived in a tent for several months with his best friend, who had been pregnant the entire time. When he looked back he could see some of the signs but that was like recognizing the murder weapon after you finished watching the crime drama; it was pointless.

He remembered the days where she had looked pale and peaky, the days where she had been falling asleep on her feet. She had been expecting a baby, she should have been doing the least work and receiving the most food even though the opposite had been the truth. He remembered that night they had had a laugh, fighting over the last of the fresh brambles they had foraged. He had gripped her waist, he had felt her stomach briefly and, looking back, he had been aware her stomach reached further than it should.

She had pulled him away quickly and she had looked scared for a moment, scared Harry, she hadn't wanted him to realize that her skin was stretching, her stomach becoming softer, and he hadn't noticed, he hadn't seen what was right there.

When Ron had come to tell him, they were still at Shell Cottage. He had come out of the little house and sat on the grass at Harry's side. His knees were up into his chest, his cheeks were red but his face under the red tint was pale. He had tear stains down his face and he had stared straight ahead, unable to look Harry in the eye.

"Hermione, she was pregnant." He had told Harry, nodding his head and blinking, trying his best to get the words out without crying but his voice broke on the next word.

"She's had a miscarriage."

That word stayed with Harry. He later learned how pregnant his friend had been, that another month or so and she'd have given birth to a healthy baby.

They had buried the ashes of their little boy, buried them at the foot of the tree they planted for Fred. Only the close family were there, only those members of the Weasley household who still lived at home.

He remembered standing there, Ginny clutching his hand within the confines of his pocket. He had felt hopeless; a baby had died. Not just a baby, Ron and Hermione's baby. Their first baby, at the hands of Bellatrix. He would never blame Bellatrix, there was only one person he could blame even though he knew it was so very wrong, and that person was himself.

He should have noticed Hermione was behaving strangely, she wasn't right but he had been too caught up in Dumbledore's task to think about his friends. A baby had died because of that, but what was worse, what made him sick to the stomach was that neither of Aaron's parents blamed him. Even though Bellatrix had been the executioner Harry felt he had led the innocent baby boy from the cells.

He was also angry, livid, that another defenseless baby had suffered thanks to Voldemort. He had been that child in the first wizarding war, then Teddy and Aaron. It was true what people said, the civilians, the on-lookers, those were the ones who suffered at the hands of War- and even more so, the ones who suffered at the hands of Voldemort. This little boy, he would have been Harry's second Godson – he was the second of his Godchildren to have suffered. Teddy had lost his parents whereas Ron and Hermione had lost their son.

He didn't know what to say to them. Hermione had gone back to school, studying to keep her mind away from their baby and on her N.E.W.T.s instead. Ron, he had thought of nothing other than making sure someone paid the price for their baby boy. He didn't say in front of Hermione but he wanted blood, Death Eater blood.

Harry had seen the good, the tiny piece of light slipping from behind the clouds. His best friends were closer than they had ever been. The day after the battle Ron had awkwardly got on one knee and asked Hermione to marry him, promising he would never leave her side again.

Harry knew it was true, knew they would never lose each other. Even though Aaron was now in heaven with his Uncle Fred, with Harry's parents, with Remus and Tonks and Sirius, even though he would never live with them, Aaron had made Ron and Hermione into a family.


	4. Chapter 4

Part four: Mum

She had wanted to write something on the train, use the time alone in the carriage to come up with some words, something that could go in the box she kept under her bed, the memories she had of Aaron. She had sat with parchment leaned on a book in her lap, she had twisted the quill in her hand. Occasionally she twisted the ring on her left hand, still new even after six months of wearing it.

She knew there would be questions about her ring, delight and cooing from some of the girls who would want proposal stories and all sorts. She wasn't ready for that yet. As much as she knew she wanted to marry Ron, had known it for years she couldn't help but think about the practicalities. Would their wider family and friends expect a baby soon after? She couldn't do that.

She really couldn't, it had been over a year between the first time, the night she had really given herself to Ron and him to her. They had tried since, only once, but she couldn't think of anything but their little boy. Even knowing she was fully protected that time, the night before she left the Burrow for the last time until Christmas, knowing she wasn't going to become pregnant this time the memory was still too much.

They had agreed to wait a few years, to let themselves and their families heal, but she sometimes worried that the way she had treated Ron, that he hadn't known at all, maybe he needed to heal. Maybe he needed to forgive her.

She had never meant to leave it that way, he was supposed to be the first to know. She knew she had been stupid not to test sooner, she had skipped three periods before she took it. She even laughed at herself, she had bought the test kit before they left, almost as though she had known she would need it. It had been a straight positive – all three – she had been going to tell him straight away but they infiltrated the ministry, then he was injured and it had all piled up, more and more had happened.

She hadn't even felt ill, as if her body knew not to fully prepare. She felt physically sick remembering the night when she had climbed into the bath and noticed her stomach was changing from slightly bigger to round and smooth. She had wanted to tell Harry that night, wanted him to know why she was so tired, but something stopped her every time.

Ron should know first.

He had known first, but by then Aaron was gone from this world.

She glanced out the window of the train watching the landscape become more recognisable as Scottish Highlands, heather and moss and rolling hills. Aaron would never see them. She would never wave her little boy off from King's Cross, never hear of his sorting or get his OWL results.

When Ron had asked her Dad for permission to marry his daughter her Dad has asked when the baby was due. He had meant it as a joke, meant to make Ron laugh. Hermione had broken down in tears in that moment. She had to tell her parents they were almost grandparents. She explained, while her Mother's heart broke more and more, that she had expected that she wouldn't get pregnant first time, or even second or third. She presumed because her Mum had struggled to conceive that she might be the same.

She should have known better, the girl who took everything from books and research and she had taken something on chance. She had failed at motherhood before it had even begun. She was seventeen, not near ready to be a parent, she shouldn't have taken any chances. There's a good chance she probably shouldn't even have been apparating. She should have been eating decent meals, listening to her body when she needed to rest but she had done none of that and it was too late now.

She felt as though she would never get through this, and she didn't want to either, she was responsible for the death of a baby and she should have to live with that. Some miscarriages were natural, some happened – as they had to her Mum – just because but hers hadn't. Bellatrix had caused it, the torture had not damaged Hermione but somehow the foetus had been attacked but even though it had not directly been her fault she should have said, should have gone home and stayed safe.

Looking at the top of the page in front of her, at the word Aaron Ronald Weasley, she knew she wouldn't have done any of those things. She thought of Teddy, Harry's Godson, if Aaron had not died then perhaps Teddy would have. She knew she had to think of all who would have suffered had it not been for their baby's death, but she had crossed the road between woman and mother and now her son would be with her always.

She had gone back to school to escape, to try and help herself to heal in a place where only Ginny knew about her nephew. She had gone back while Ron went through his training, while he fought his own way through the grief. One day they would be able to try again but not to start a family, but to continue the one they had started with an angel.


End file.
